Catch Her In The Corn
by faketongue
Summary: Writer's Block. The most serious disease among authors. Will Yasmin Hewson and the strange man she met on her first day in Tashmore Lake be able to compete this annoying sickness?  R&R, please! ohhh, forgot the disclaimer. so.. DO NOT OWN SW OR JOHNNY!
1. I smoke a lot

Catch-her in the corn

_I smoke a lot_

I opened the new pack of cigarettes, dragged one out of it and lit it up. The lake was deserted today. I didn't mind company that much anyway. I've always been a loner and it worked quite well for me. After realising that it would never change, that my social life was completely fucked-up, my best friends living miles away from me, I decided it was time to become what I always have been. A hermit. Tashmore Lake seemed the perfect place for people like me. Full of good neighbours, minding their own business, modern life avoided the little village as long as it could. I opened my bag and took out a pencil and a few sheets of paper. I needed peaceful places for my writing issues. My glance strolled along the shores, noticing tiny waves and a few glittering fish beyond the surface. The trees were still green although it was almost November. I shivered but the cold didn't really matter to me. It cleared mind and body.

I blew out blue smoke and watched it wandering through the heavy air. _Perfect_. Everything was in its place. But still... the pencil stood still on the blank paper. It didn't move. An annoyed sound left my lips. Sometimes perfection could be very fretful. Suddenly, I heard a humming. From somewhere between the trees, not far away from my bench. And I was more than annoyed now. Cold days always belonged to me. Nobody else dared to take a walk outside when it was _that_ cold. But I guess I was just looking for an excuse not to try writing something good any longer. I used the last bit of burning ash to light up another cigarette - when I was disturbed, I usually turned into a chain smoker. And at this point I didn't care about my health. Fucking hell, I was sitting on an icy bench with nothing but a jacket, a plain tee shirt and cloth pants. As soon as I buried my utensils in the depths of my bag, I stood up and tried to spot where the humming was coming from.

I just started walking to walk down the path I came from when looking for a decent place to start writing as I ran into a man. Startled, both of us looked at each other, not knowing what to say, how to react. He was of average height, with a grey beanie on his blonde hair, glasses, brown pants and a dark green cardigan. And smoking. _People up here don't seem to care about their health_.

"May I help you?"

He had a tender, deep voice.

"Uhh..."

My lack of words brought a little smile to his lips. Now I was pretty much aggravated. I hated it when people mocked me.

"No, thank you, sir. I'm aware of where I am and who I am." I replied coldly and started to walk past him.

"Heyy..." He grabbed my arm and stopped me.

I flinched at his touch and almost jumped into a tree. Furiously, I turned around, ready to shout at him for scaring the shit out of me, but when I looked into his face, I noticed that his eyes were reflecting worry and... _hurt?_

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

I lowered my angry gaze. "It's okay... I guess. I'm sorry for being so bitchy. I... I'm Yasmin Hewson. And I hate to admit it... but I might be a little lost. I just moved to Tashmore Lake and..."

_STOP! He is a stranger. He doesn't need to know you THAT good._

"It's okay. The woods can be pretty disturbing if you don't know them. I'm Morton Rainey. Nice to meet you, Miss Hewson.

Why the hell was he assuming that I was just a "Miss"? I looked at him suspiciously but he was smiling friendly. Alright. At least he wasn't some psycho hunting for prey. Or was he? I noticed it was getting dark and shivered again. I have never been afraid of the dark or even being in the forest when it was dark, but these surroundings were new to me and I didn't want to get lost in the night and starve to death in the cold.

"Are you okay? I mean... I don't mean to intrude your longing for wandering around in a forest you barely know but maybe I could accompany you. Do you have a car parked somewhere?"

I wanted to reply that I didn't need any help but for once in my life I swallowed down my anger and nodded shyly. I have never been much of a talker either.

"Alright then. Let's get you out of here." He said and smiled once again.

As we started walking, I lit up another cigarette and so did he. Silence fell upon us. I didn't know what to say and I enjoyed the sounds the woods made at dusk. This was the perfect place for me. Somehow I wanted to stay here and never leave again. But Mister Morton "I'm so nice and friendly" Rainey would probably disagree.

"Soo... Miss Hewson. May I inquire your reason for moving to this deserted place?"

_Why did people always have to start a conversation?_ I hated small talk.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Mister Rainey."

He let out a short laughter. "Well then... I'm just going to tell you about myself. As you know, I'm Morton Rainey. I've been living here for six months now, after my wife left me for some dumb jackass. I'm a writer. And... I guess you will hear the rumours sooner or later..."

Frankly, that got my attention.

"... I am accused of murdering my ex-wife and her boyfriend."

My legs froze. He stopped walking, turned around to look at me. The lack of light made his face appear like a skull. Behind the glasses, the chocolate brown eyes (How come you noticed the colour of his eyes?) have been transformed into black. Then... he started laughing. I seriously - _madly _- wanted to smack him as hard as I could. I fumbled out another cigarette and inhaled the first drag deeply. Shaking my head, I walked past him and mumbled a not so nice _fucker_, which made him laugh even harder. As if a murderer would praise himself.

"You smoke a lot, don't you?" he asked, still chuckling.

"Only when I'm accompanied by a murderer." I answered.

As we reached my car, he stood beside me, scratching his neck. "Look... I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I will tell the people in town that you are mad and they have every right to call you a murderer. They will understand."

He passed me a smirk.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Hewson."

When I drove off the parking lot of the lake, I checked the rear-view mirror, noticing that he was still standing where I left him, looking at my car . Somehow I was sure that I would meet him again. And I didn't know whether to be pleased or scared.

A/N: Reviews, please? puppy-doggy-eyes


	2. Jack Is Back

Catch-her in the corn

_Jack Is Back_

It was the usual lonely night in a lonely town when I was watching my dearest Jack chasing his dearest Wendy with an axe. People always asked my why I liked this scene in particular. I couldn't tell. Maybe it was because it showed the abyss of the human mind, like King always did, sometimes with a bit of mystery, sometimes there were just paranoid thoughts. For once in our lives, all of us have been followed by strange things or noises. Or jealousy. That angst, maybe even horror, to be left alone. Forever. And ever. It didn't matter if it was our significant other cheating on us or our best friend - these were worries no one could take away from us. The feeling that you get when you know something is going on and it's not good and sure as hell involves people talking about you. Statistics like to tell people that crimes are committed, most of the time, because of jealousy. Either that or anger. Both of them were a big part of my life. It was jealousy that made me want to leave the city I was living in - and it was anger that actually made me leave it.

I sighed and sunk deeper into my most favoured black leather couch. The only thing I brought with me when I decided to move to Tashmore Lake. So many things happened on it, and it didn't matter if good or bad. It was part of my past and I never wanted to lose it. _Getting emotional, aren't we?_ I moaned. This voice was a part of me and it didn't matter if I wanted to get rid of it or not. It always reminded me of the bad things. Or what it considered to be bad things. Only tonight I didn't care. My favourite movie was on TV. There were enough cigarettes lying in front of me to cover me up for the next two days. I seriously, _badly_, never wanted to leave this flat again. Not until the Black Beauty pencil started moving to write something that could be sold. My publisher hated delays. And I hated distractions. But there were no ideas. Not a single one. And the walls I was looking at never answered back. _Being a writer... you see what happend to ol' Jack there, poppet. _Hearing voices. Sometimes I felt as if I was standing on a cliff. _No. One step further and it makes sense._ My thoughts went wandering. Being an author was my one and only goal. I wanted to share my stories with the world. _What about that Rainey guy? What would he do?_

"Oh great. I don't even know this man." I mumbled under my breath, very aware of talking to myself. Not for the first time.

But the voice was right. Morton Rainey was a writer and yes, I even googled him. The critics loved his last book, the one with the story he rewrote. A new ending. Was that what I came here for? A new ending for myself? I thought of _Secret Window_. I've never read it before. And I didn't plan on doing so. I've never read other works from writers I knew. Objectivity was a huge deal for me. My life was built upon objectivity. I swore myself I would never get that lost again. Lost in feelings... jealousy. Anger. I needed objectivity. I felt like 50, at least, once again. The last 25 years of my life consisted of nothing but pain and fear. Tashmore Lake was a new start. And a possibility for a new ending. The ending always mattered. One year ago, my opinion on life and death was a whole different one. That's why I came here. To start again. I glared at the TV. I was a new person now. I took the remote control and suddenly there was nothing but a black deep hole. I didn't need Jack. Not any longer. So I stood up, left the mocking blank walls to be nothing but surroundings of my flat and decided it was time for a night in a nice pub with unfamiliar faces and lots of drinks.

* * *

The jukebox played _Are you lonesome tonight_ by Elvis Presley. Morton Rainey let out a short growl. He was staring at his fifth Jack Daniels, not on the rocks, not with water, when this woman _What's-her-face_ entered the pub. He noticed her instantly. Every man in the joint did. It wasn't her average-built body, they've had seen enough of them for more than one life, it wasn't her shoulder-length black hair, slighlty glowing in the dark. No. It was the way she observed this place. With these eyes which seemed to know a lot about life. And possibly death. This cold gaze, absent-minded, but still not dull enough to tell them she didn't care. Oh, she cared a lot. About everything. He could tell by the way she walked. The way she ordered a _(coincidence?)_ Jack Daniels. The way she said _Thank You_ and coming from her mouth, it was nothing more but politeness. Yes, Morton Rainey knew the human kind. He had seen enough to be able to judge and to allow other people to judge him. But she didn't seem like the kind of women sitting in a dark corner, surrounded by strange men, drinking on her own. _Wanna dig underneath the surface, Mr. Rainey?_ He wanted to tell this voice with the southern drawl to shut up but he was in public. He didn't even remember when this voice first appeared. Then she looked at him. She saw him. Sitting in exactly that one dark corner she was longing for. (_What if she comes here? What will you say?)_ Where the hell did this nervousness come from? He didn't have the time to think about it because she was already walking towards him. With this numb yet knowing glint in her eyes. 

"Hello."

He didn't respond. He couldn't help but looking into these deep blue-grey eyes.

"Mind if I take a seat?"

Morton Rainey cleared his throat and mumbled a short "Sure, go ahead.", without being able to look elsewhere. Her eyes captured him. Tied him up.

"Thanks." she said and smiled.

A fake smile. A smile you passed people because you didn't have somewhere else to turn to.

"Jacky, huh?"

He nodded. "He has always been a good friend of mine."

This time, she didn't smile. She smirked. A totally farcical kind of smirk. A _real_ expression.

"One of my best friends." she answered, swallowing down the drink and instantly ordering another one. "You care sharing a bottle?"

"If you pay." he replied and smirked, too.

She gave him a short, dry laugh and as the waitress appeared, ordered what was demanded.

"The people are staring at us." she announced.

Rainey shrugged and drank the last drop from the bottom of his glass. _(Where is this leading to? Do you want to have her here? What if...)_

His conscience. He hated this voice more than the one with the southern drawl.

"Sooo... why did you come here?"

"Why did _you_ come here? This is not a place for a... lady."

A smirk, again. "I'm not a lady, Mr. Rainey." Her black hair was swinging as she poured alcohol into her glass after the bottle arrived.

"Sure, you aren't."

An angry gaze, but it was fake. He smiled at her.

"Women must have been telling you that you are charming when being an arrogant asshole."

He laughed. "Actually, that's my best feature." She joined his laughter.

It was relieving and he didn't even know why. There was this woman _(Yasmin Hewson.)_ sitting here, drinking with him, examining him with her deep, meaningful eyes and at this moment, he was absolutely sure that he never felt any better. Or more welcomed. Boozing buddies for one night. With Elvis' smooth voice, soothing their loneliness. Caressing their souls. He could tell she was singing the lyrics, in her mind, with her body. It was not what a man would call a perfect body, still she had an amazing breast line, according to her more than _showing-off_ v-neck. And her hips being full of flesh, round and hard, he assumed. Perfection, not noticed by herself, but sure enough noticed by the men in the pub. Maybe she wasn't aware of these lustful glares, or she simply didn't care. A lot of men must've been past this waist. And there was this scar on her throat. Tiny. Almost faded. But it was there. Every part of Morton Rainey's body was longing for that piece of destroyed skin. Licking it would make her moan. Or would it? Maybe she would just smirk and bury her teeth into his neck. To leave a scar like that. (_You've had enough Jack Daniels_.) The writer forced himself to look at the bar.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice. It was deep. Almost sounding like a cough. (_She smokes a lot.)_ As did he.

"I'm fine. I think... I'll go to the restrooms."

She nodded silently. He left the table in the dark corner as fast as he could, nearly stumbling on his feet.

* * *

_Nervousness, huh?_ I smiled as I followed him. _Time for distraction. Only once. Just this time. Then go back to work and never meet him again_. Was it possible? In a town small like Tashmore Lake? Jack Daniels did his work and never left any doubts. I waited in front of the restrooms for men. As he opened the door, looking quite surprised, I shoved him back in. Into one of the two cabins, with white flagstones, opening up to emptiness and eternity. It didn't matter. I wanted him. Time for distraction. He never complained as I took of his pants and my own. Let him be a part of me as I was a part of him. _Only tonight. No regrets. No pain. No emotions_. 

We swallowed each other. Deep. Deeper. Passing out, into peaceful darkness, with nothing but Jack Daniels and our bodies.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to MissDepp4Eva for her first comment!! I appreciate that a loooooooot! Now... more reviews, please. And no, it's not even _close_ to be over. The perfect ending still awaits you, my dear readers. 


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